


Gunshots and Heartbreak

by NoelleLilacNotte



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Guns, I AM ACTUALLY NOT SORRY, M/M, POV, Sebastian's POV, Spoilers, The Reichenbach Fall, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleLilacNotte/pseuds/NoelleLilacNotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poor Seb has to watch the final events of The Reichenbach Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunshots and Heartbreak

My hands shook around the gun I held. The gun wasn’t the source of the shaking, I actually felt better when it was in my hands. No, the thing that caused my entire body to quake in fear and sadness was the simple sight I saw through the rifle’s eyepiece.  
Jim Moriarty with a gun his mouth.   
He hadn’t told me this would be part of the plan. He told me the only threat he’d need was my gun pointed at John. But no, he just couldn’t stick to the plan, not even when it was his own. No, he had to make it “interesting”, he had to spice it up with important lives too. He just HAD to go up on the roof with Sherlock and use his own life as a bargaining chip. I didn’t understand why. Why couldn’t he just shoot Sherlock instead? I could hear his silky voice in the back of my head. “I can’t just shoot him, that’d be boring. I have to have a little fun with this!” I whispered to myself that he wouldn’t be able to do it. But I knew, somewhere in the forgotten part of my mind he’s always complaining about, that he could. He didn’t care about lives, and I suppose he decided he didn’t care about his own. He didn’t care about his life, and the worst part was that he knew what it would do to me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to stand being here for very long. He knew I’d start drinking again, he knew exactly what would happen to me if he died, and that meant he didn’t care.   
If he tried to kill himself, he didn’t care about his life.  
And if he succeeded, he didn’t care about mine.  
My eyelids shut involuntarily. I willed them to open, and finally saw a blurry, water-veiled version of reality through my tear soaked eyes. I immediately looked through the eyepiece, hoping that Sherlock was gone and Jim’s gun was somewhere other than pressed to the roof of his mouth. And I got my wish. Just not the way I wanted.   
Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, probably bleeding out on the concrete below, but Jim...well, Jim’s gun wasn’t in his mouth anymore. It was hanging loosely in his limp hand, sticking to the puddle of semi-coagulated blood slowly growing bigger beneath it. I stifled an anguished cry, grabbing the rifle from my side and racing away from the body as far and as quickly as I could. Salty tears stung my eyes as I raced across back roads and alleyways, trying not to be seen.  
Jim Moriarty was dead.   
And he’d left me here to die as well.


End file.
